The Deep Cut.

Thanks nordlichter4!

The second time I tried to kill myself there was blood; a lot of blood, so much so there would forever be a stain on the carpet in the living room where I attempted to slice through my skin. The scariest part was making the first cut into my wrist. I felt like I was sawing back and forth for the longest time before the blade finally gave way to the pressure and sank deep into my arm. I didn't feel any pain although the blood did make me a bit whoozy, I had been in so much pain before that that this seemed like the release I needed to start healing. Later my shrink asked if this attempt was a cry for help and perhaps I didn't really want to die because I did it wrong, I cut the wrong way even after I looked it upon the Internet. I told her that I did really want to kill myself and cutting the wrong way was just another example of how I fuck everything up. She asked if I saw the irony on the situation. I laughed.

The most disturbing part of it all that still rattles me to this day is the memory of lying on the floor in a pool of blood and through half open eyes I saw my cat sniffing at my blood and licking it up. My cat, Q-tip, was never the same after that, her pure white fur was stained a burnt orange, a constant reminder of my failed attempt to end my life.

Until the day I died I never realized that there could be other definitions of right and how to do things the right way and maybe my right was actually wrong. I am beginning a slow realization now that had I thought outside the box my life would have gone in a completely different direction and I might still want to be alive.